


That Fucking Waistcoat

by JennaCupcakes



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, grantaire has a sexy waistcoat, this is just porn don't look at me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 08:01:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaCupcakes/pseuds/JennaCupcakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire's decision to buy that new waistcoat turned out to be one of the best decisions of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Fucking Waistcoat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [speightdaysaweek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/speightdaysaweek/gifts).



> Based on a prompt by speightdaysaweek, after we both realised how insanely hot waistcoats are. 
> 
> I would like to apologise for my smut writing skills. Criticism is very much appreciated. Note that this doesn't really have a plot.

Grantaire figured he deserved nice things once in a while, which was why he didn’t hesitate a second when he saw that waistcoat in the window of some back-alley tailor shop.

Actually, he felt light-hearted because he’d just won a game of cards against Bahorel, and he had never been able to make long-term assessments, so the natural thing to do was to enter the shop, try on the waistcoat, decide that it fit just fine, and then buy it.

It was a very subtle shade of blue, something Jehan described as the colour of a stormy sea despite probably never having seen the sea except for oil drawings on large canvasses, and something Bahorel called _too fancy for his liking_. It was fitted, more so than the clothes he usually wore, and the silk was shiny and firm. He felt _good_ , wearing it, and so he did.

But he didn’t think much of it until he decided to wear it one tedious Thursday afternoon in April when he attended a meeting at the Musain.

It had been surprisingly warm for April, the sort of day that was heavily laden with the promise of summer and seemingly endless days, when the people of Paris went outside with a smile on their faces for the first time in months because the sky was smiling too, and Grantaire had found he could get by without too much alcohol. The weather also gave him an excuse to wear his blue waistcoat again, now that he didn’t have to hide it under a heavy winter coat anymore, but he almost forgot about it in the course of the day.

He went out with Bahorel, joined Joly and Bossuet for lunch and then somehow ended up at the Musain, pretending he only went there because Courfeyrac had dragged them all in when they passed the café, and not because he’d already heard Enjolras’ voice sounding through a window upstairs. The sun was standing low, but it was still warm, and they joked and shared stories on their way upstairs, until Courfeyrac shushed them all upon entering the room.

Grantaire sat down on a chair in the back of the room, sent a smile to the rest of his friends who had turned their heads, and then pretended to be invisible or at least only here for the alcohol.

If he looked at Enjolras from under his lashes, well, that was nobody’s business but his.

Actually, he thought, he should thank the Lord for warm days like this, because Enjolras, apparently oblivious to the sudden change in the weather, had not decided to wear more appropriate clothing, and now his face was flushed red and his hair was sticking up funnily where he ran his hand through the curls. It only made him all the more pretty in Grantaire’s eyes. And yes, Enjolras was definitely pretty today, not handsome, because damn, that guy could pull off a blush better than any virgin ever could.

Okay, so maybe Grantaire had a problem. But at least he kept it to himself – his gaze wandered over to Marius, who had been trying to get Courfeyrac’s attention ever since the other had sat down at the table, and Grantaire was pretty sure he wanted to talk about Cosette.

 

Enjolras was about done with people showing up late to their meetings.

To be honest, he was about done with pretty much everything today, the main reason for that being the atrociously hot weather and everyone’s apparent inability to distinguish between common cause and common interest – their meetings at the café weren’t subjected to the latter, that was to be discussed over a glass of wine at the Corinthe.

“You see, my friends, if we do not take action now, our chance will pass and the monarchy will grow strong once more while we grow more complacent each day. Now is the time, now is the--”

He stopped when the door opened and Courfeyrac entered, followed by Bossuet, Joly, and Grantaire who quickly took their places. Usually, this wouldn’t have been a reason to stop Enjolras, not even in his current state of mild exhaustion due to the heat in the café. No, the reason for his graceless stuttering in the middle of a sentence was something else entirely, and it took him a moment to piece it together in his head when it felt like he’d only just seen Grantaire for the first time, because the man sitting down on the chair in the back of the room looked far more eloquent than Grantaire. Then his eyes registered the waistcoat, and he wrote it off as a sign of heat-induced confusion and resumed his speech.

“Now is the time to act, because ours is a time of opportunity. All the signs point to revolution, my friends.”

He went on detailing the situation in the country, but found himself drawn back to Grantaire as if by magic – there was something about that waistcoat, he decided, that he couldn’t quite place.

It was fitted, to the point of being almost too small, and it forced Grantaire to sit straighter than usual. The greyish tone of blue was the same as the blue of his eyes – and Enjolras tried very hard _not_ to think about why he knew that – and it made him look pensive in a way he never did with a bottle in his hand. Then he smiled, Enjolras couldn’t tell why, and holy mother of god did he look amazing.

It actually kind of hurt Enjolras.

 

The meeting closed when the sun had long set outside, and most of the Amis hurried to get home as fast as possible, but Grantaire never was in a hurry.

Tonight, Enjolras wasn’t, either.

He couldn’t explain it, not really, all he knew was that he found more and more reasons to stick around longer – there was another forgotten pamphlet on the ground, and Courfeyrac had forgotten his hat – and Grantaire stayed on that chair where he had sat down at the beginning of the meeting, now holding a bottle, watching Enjolras, and occasionally drinking from it.

Grantaire’s mouth around the dark glass of the bottle made Enjolras’ mouth go dry, and when he wasn’t looking at the swallowing movements of Grantaire’s throat from the corner of his eye, he eyed the waistcoat almost suspiciously.

It should be impossible for an article of clothing so common to have such an effect on Enjolras.

The trouble was, he almost couldn’t deny the effect it most definitely had anymore.

He sat down on his chair with a sigh, which prompted Grantaire to laugh out loud – the first sound he had uttered this night, he had been surprisingly quiet during the meeting. “What is the matter, Enjolras? Have you strained yourself too much today?”

He got up, and the waistcoat straightened, emphasising the lines of his waist as he moved across the room. Enjolras almost jumped out of his seat, refusing to enter the argument-to-ensure in an inferior position.

“Well, you certainly didn’t strain yourself at all,” he remarked, “Any man can sit at the back of a room and drink.”

Still he couldn’t prevent his eyes from carefully examining that waistcoat once again, and he had to admit that it looked even better close up. The material seemed expensive, and the cut was elegant and really very flattering and for a moment he caught himself thinking about Grantaire taking off the waistcoat, and his shirt, but that wasn’t actually as appealing as the thought of him keeping the waistcoat _on_ and...

He swallowed and looked back up, only to find Grantaire smirking at him. “Is something the matter?”

Enjolras opened his mouth, but found that there was no possible way to explain his thoughts. Still, he found himself gesturing towards the waistcoat.

“I would have preferred red.”

Well, that was not what he had meant to say, but it was better than nothing. Apparently, Grantaire’s clothing had the magic ability to render him speechless – impractical, considering the amount of meetings Grantaire attended without Enjolras really knowing what he did there. Maybe he should say something about this, but how exactly was that supposed to work without him making a fool of himself, because, goddamnit, he just didn’t get distracted...

“Really?” Grantaire took a step forward. “I was under the impression you quite liked it.”

And that was it, really, Enjolras knew he was in trouble now, because Grantaire had noticed, and, knowing Grantaire, he wouldn’t let it go. Not until he had humiliated Enjolras thoroughly.

He prepared himself internally for the colourful range of jabs and teases that he was sure was about to come, but instead of his smirk growing wider, Grantaire took hold of Enjolras’ wrists without warning, and placed them on the waistcoat where it went up to Grantaire’s shoulders. His smile morphed into something tentative, almost shy, nothing like the Grantaire Enjolras was used to.

Enjolras could faintly feel Grantaire’s heartbeat to the clothes, and he was overwhelmed with a sudden sense of closeness.

Grantaire leaned forward. “Tell me what you where thinking about,” he whispered, hot breath carrying the smell of alcohol, and when Enjolras didn’t respond, he leaned forward some more and brought their lips together.

His lips were soft against Enjolras’, almost mirroring Enjolras’ hands against the soft fabric – he was unmoving, but Grantaire’s softness against him was turning him soft as well, and he found a desire to move forward in himself, to move forward and _hold on_ , and so he did, gripping the waistcoat and moving against Grantaire.

A surprised gasp from Grantaire got lost against his lips. He opened his mouth to swallow it, and Grantaire moved forward some more, crowding Enjolras against the table, and the only reason he didn’t fall was because he was still holding on to the waistcoat.

Enjolras could feel Grantaire’s hands ghosting over his sides, uncertain where they were allowed to touch, fleeting shadows of the grip Enjolras had on Grantaire, but finally settling in the hair he had longed to touch since the beginning of the meeting. It was warm and soft, and Enjolras thought Grantaire would pull him even closer, but instead he held him steady and pulled back, breaking their kiss but keeping their bodies as close as possible.

Enjolras’ hand over Grantaire’s heart betrayed the other’s frantic heartbeat. “I...” Grantaire started, and Enjolras could feel the moment slipping with the syllable. He did not want speaking, he realised, not yet, all he wanted was to taste more of Grantaire, more of the alcohol and cynicism of his mouth, and he wanted to find out if the rest of his body tasted the same way.

The realisation hit him only after he had thought it, and he let go of the waistcoat to reach for Grantaire’s hands, one of which was still tangled in his hair. He leaned forward to make up for the loss of closeness, their hands trapped between their bodies, and whispered, “Is this okay?”

Grantaire actually laughed, a breathless, _I-am-stunned-at-your-obliviousness_ -laugh that reverberated in Enjolras’ body. “Yes, this is okay.”

And Enjolras still wasn’t quite sure what he was doing – he was aware of some of the mechanics of pleasure, just not experienced, so he dropped to his knees and moved to undo the front of Grantaire’s trousers. Grantaire gasped and laughed, maybe to make up for the nervousness he was feeling, too, or maybe he was just deliriously happy, Enjolras couldn’t tell.

One of Grantaire’s hands brushed over his, reassuring him and satisfying Grantaire’s own need to touch, and then Enjolras pulled down Grantaire’s trousers and breathed out, and a shudder went through Grantaire’s entire body.

The sensation of anticipation was overcome by the actual sensation of Enjolras’ mouth on Grantaire, however, and from that point on, coherent thought wasn’t really an option anymore. Grantaire only just managed to reach for the buttons of his waistcoat to loosen it up a bit, when Enjolras, perceiving the movement from the corner of his eye reached for Grantaire’s writs and yanked the other’s hands away from the waistcoat while doing something with his tongue that made Grantaire’s knees go weak.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath and scrabbled for something, anything to hold on to while Enjolras went to taste more of the salty skin, bringing Grantaire close to madness with the sensation of warm and good and _holy fuck how_.

His hands were still moving over the waistcoat, and Grantaire held them gladly when he found them, gripping tight and causing Enjolras to sigh against him, which in turn made Grantaire almost collapse again. It was already too much, and they had barely begun.

One of Enjolras’ hands moved back down, gripping Grantaire where his mouth couldn’t reach. Grantaire _whimpered_ , and it made Enjolras painfully aware of how hard he was himself, of how hard he had been all the time, but he couldn’t care less, not with Grantaire’s dick in his mouth and the silk of the waistcoat under his hand that Grantaire was still holding on to.

He pulled back entirely, breathing out and leaving Grantaire to buck up against nothing while he was catching his breath, but before Grantaire could complain he went down on him again, this time managing the trick of swallowing more and Grantaire’s whine – if the tightening of his hand around Enjolras’ hadn’t been clear enough – spoke of how close the other man was. Enjolras moved his head up and down faster, revelling in the taste and the helpless noises Grantaire made and the feeling of silk being stained by sweat under his fingers and then Grantaire muttered ‘ _fuck you, Enjolras_ ’ and came with shaking knees and Enjolras’ mouth still around his dick.

His legs gave away before Enjolras could swallow everything, and there was a streak of come running down his chin that Grantaire swiped away with a dopey smile before pulling Enjolras next to him on the floor and kissing him, and Enjolras wondered if the bitter taste in his mouth filled Grantaire with the same thrill Enjolras’ had felt earlier when tasting the alcohol on Grantaire’s tongue. He felt breathless, in a good way, and allowed himself to be held by Grantaire for the moment.

That moment lasted until he could feel Grantaire’s hand down his trousers.

His lips formed a silent _O_ as Grantaire leaned forward with a smirk to kiss Enjolras again, moving his hand at a quick pace and whispering against Enjolras’ mouth.

“You fucking bastard totally get off on the waistcoat, don’t you?”


End file.
